


Between Two Points

by Grimreaperchibi



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimreaperchibi/pseuds/Grimreaperchibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Close calls have a way of making people realize exactly how precious something can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Two Points

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Torn snarled, slamming a hand down on his desk.  “I told you not to engage!  Now the whole sector’s up in arms!”

“ _They_ shot at _us_!” Jak snarled back.  “What were we supposed to do, just stand there?”

Daxter winced at the sharp increase in volume their voices took as much as he did the fresh pain blossoming in his arm.  The adrenaline and endorphins must be wearing off.  That had to be why everything sounded three times louder than it should and even the slightest touch burned.

They’d almost made it out of the bazaar district without being found again.  Only, this time it was by the suicidal Guards on hoverbikes.  Granted, running onto the causeway that kept vehicle traffic out of the eastern bazaar area was like begging passing motorists to run their asses over.  And those crazy sons of bitches had been more than happy to oblige, dashing around at high speeds, plowing through everything in their way like they were Hellcats instead of tricked-out zoomers.  Of the four or five that attempted to corner them, two exploded from excessive damage before reaching that part of the overpass.  Considering all the other traffic that had been present at the time, it was going to take days to clean up the mess and months for the stains to disappear.

“This is why I wanted you to stay _hidden_.  Out of sight, out of mind!  But you couldn’t even do that.”  The growl in Torn’s voice got harsher the angry he got.  “Now we’ve got to wait even longer to move forward with our plans.  Just what were you thinking?”

He gritted his teeth against another swell of agony, chancing a look at the work being down on his arm.  It was just a graze, something still requiring stitching but nothing fatal, nothing that wouldn’t heal without some interesting scaring.  Finally, a pay-off for being so damn skinny—he was a small target to hit.  He had to admit, though, it had been a lucky miss.  A quarter inch further over and the round probably would have shattered his humerus like a pane of glass.  It would take a little while to heal and be plenty painful in the mean time, but this was only a flesh wound.  Breaking the bone in such a manner would basically render the whole arm useless.  The type of invasive surgery needed to fix that wasn’t performed on rat babies and wanted men.

 _It looks worse than it really is_ , Daxter reminded himself, feeling slightly sick as he watched the cruor gather on skin gone white.  _If blood is runnin’ out, then infection isn’t settin’ in_.

“Why didn’t you tell us about the new patrols?” Jak demanded.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know because you know _everything_ the KG does thanks to Ashelin.  And you still sent us out there without a warning, without a gun!”

Having a gun wouldn’t have helped anything.  Rather, it would have drawn out the fight Dark had ended rather quickly.  Daxter wasn’t sure who or even where the shot that nailed his arm came from, but the moment blood hit the pavement was the moment Jak lost it.  Metal or flesh, he tore it all apart with the same fervor, leaving a trail of catastrophic destruction behind…which was probably what was really eating at the map-obsessed prick currently trying to out-scream his friend.  Mayhem for his purpose was more than fine, but Precursors-forbid a little excessive use of force any other time.

…Just like every other authoritative figure in this damn city…

“Enough!”  Daxter finally snapped, drawing the immediate attention of both men.  He bared his teeth in return even though it was an almost pointless gesture against either of them.  “Stop screamin’ already.  Ya wanna yell at someone?  Yell at me.  It’s my fault the KG found us, all right?  I was tryin’ to lift us some dinner an’ got caught.  Stop raggin’ on Jak—he didn’t even know.”

That was a blatant lie.  They hadn’t even been near the food market when the first shots had been fired.  Jak looked ready to say as such, but Daxter opened his mouth first.  “Look, ya’ve jerked us around since day one.  We’re not some toy soldiers ya get ta push ‘round yer maps.  We’re the ones doing _you_ a favor by takin’ the missions everyone else refuses.  You don’t like what we do, that’s just too fuckin’ bad.  We’ll find somewhere else to be.”

“You’re both more trouble than you’re worth,” Torn finally grumbled, “but you’re right; you’ve become too valuable the Underground’s plans to let me throw you out.”  He sighed heavily, rubbing a temple like he was trying to stave off a headache.  “I just know I’m going to regret this, but here.”  He tossed a key to Jak.  “There’s a safe house on the far side of the Fortress, near where the slums meet the Stadium Arcade.  You should recognize the place since you moved one of our guys out of there a few days ago.  It should keep you safe enough for the night.  I want your asses here first thing in the morning tomorrow.  Since you’re not capable of staying put quietly, I’ll find something to occupy your time.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Don’t think for a second this means I’m putting you back on active duty.  You’re both still dominating the top of my shit list.  Create another fuck up like this evening and I’ll kick your asses back into the gutter so fast your head will spin.  I don’t give a damn what the Shadow says.  Understand?”  They nodded mutely.  “Good.  Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

The quack patching up him up thankfully finished shortly after that.  Between the now throbbing ache in his arm, the anemia-induced headache and the nausea brought on by both conditions, Daxter was more than happy to slither out from under Torn’s venomous glare.  As tempting as it was to stick around and see if he could puke on the asshole’s shoes, he really didn’t want to have to be there any longer as was strictly necessary.

He managed to negotiate the stairs back to street level just fine, stand on his own while Jak found them a ride because neither was interested in another run in with the Guard, and even got on the flimsy excuse for a vehicle with minimal problems.  Jumping hover zones, however, just about killed him.  The sudden upward rush pushed all the blood still in his head into his toes.  His vision blacked out and there was a loud buzzing in his ears.  His heart was beating wildly in his chest, amplifying the urge to be sick.  That would have been bad considering his skull felt like it weighted two hundred pounds and was attached to the rest of him via a wet noodle.  There wasn’t a way to tell for certain, but Daxter was pretty sure the only reason he didn’t end up splattered on the street at any point in their trip was because Jak somehow kept him pinned to his seat.

By the time his body decided no, it wasn’t going to let him pass out and be done with it, they were at their new residence.  He was far more wobbly on his feet than he’d admit to, yet stalked in confidently.  He might be a bit shocky, but that was no excuse not to pull his own weight.  The place was a vast improvement over the last, big enough to have a few pieces of actual furniture.  Sure, the table, chairs, lamp and bed were as worn as everything else in the slums, ready to collapse at the slightest hint of abuse, but it was the makings of a nice space, a nice home.

He snorted derisively.  Home…what the hell did he know about something like that?  He’d been a rat baby before he’d even known the term.  The only difference between then and now was that then, a village had been able to raise a child.  Now, no one had the time or energy to devote to helping someone else.  Help yourself or get left behind was the first rule of street life.  And he sorely didn’t want Jak to leave him behind…

“What are you doing?”

The question caught him off guard.  Daxter stared at Jak, who stared right back with a soft frown that meant he was displeased with something, but not angry.  Yet. 

“Uh…lookin’ for Bugs.”  Like he always did when they planned on staying somewhere. 

Apparently that was the wrong answer because Jak just frowned some more.  He grabbed the redhead’s good arm and pulled him around, pushing him into one of the chairs.  “Sit.”  The tone said don’t argue.  Daxter ignored it.

“I’m fine.”

“Passing out doesn’t count as fine.”

“I didn’t pass out, I got a bit light-headed.  I’m fine.”

“You got shot!” Jak hissed.  “You’re not fine!”

The retort on Daxter’s lips died.  For the second time in as many minutes, he stared at his friend.  Only this time, he saw what he should have seen before.  The hand that twitched before being run through already disheveled blond hair.  The uneasy shifting of weight from one foot to the other.  The fact that those angry, challenging blue eyes were looking down rather than up.  Suddenly, the demand made sense.

“Jak, look at me.”  He waited patiently until the command was followed.  “I mean it.  I’ll be fine.  I just need ta eat somethin’ an’ take a nap.”

There was a long pause as Jak looked him over.  “I know,” he sighed.  “I know.  I just—just let me do this.”  _Let me take care of you._

Did Jak know how hard it was to say no when he got all uncertain and vulnerable like that?    How in the world was he supposed to say no when the blond looked at him like that, all big blue eyes and drooping ears?  His friend had always been a master of the sad, abandoned crocadog face, using it to (wrongfully) guilt him into whatever it was that Jak wanted.  Normally, Daxter would have told him he was full of shit, but acquiesce after a great show to prove he wouldn’t just be bowled over.  Now, however, he could see exactly how stressed out the whole situation had left the other.  Jak was as close to panic as he’d ever been.  This wasn’t a guilt-trip to get his own way; he was being earnest in his want to be helpful.  That deflated the redhead faster than a Lurker balloon missing whole panels.

He sighed, suddenly very tired, and nodded.  “‘Kay.  But this would be easier for me ta do.”

“Just tell me what I’m looking for.”

Daxter did, his sluggish brain working overtime to describe the Metal Bugs he was so paranoid about to someone who’d never seen one.  Jak took the task with single-minded purpose, following the directions explicitly.  In short order, the place had been inspected from ceiling to floorboards and declared clean.  That done, Jak didn’t ask for permission before rifling through their bags, looking for something to eat.  Daxter didn’t make it a point to argue, nibbling quietly on whatever was put before him.  Nor did he fuss when he was nudged toward the bed, though he did snarl when Jak attempted to simply pick him up.  He’d been shot in the arm, not the leg, thanks-so-much, and he was therefore more than capable of taking himself in the required direction.

It wasn’t until he laid down that Daxter realized how much effort it had taken to remain upright.  He curled deeply into the blankets, trying to find both comfort and warmth.  There was little of either to be had, with a flat mattress and thread-bare blankets, but ultimately, he was too tired to care anymore.  Unconsciousness pulled at the edges of his mind as he felt the bed shift.  A moment later, a warm body was pressing against his back and he shamelessly pushed back into it.  Calloused fingers ran lightly through his hair, helping to lull him into true sleep.  Braced in a steadfast feeling of security, Daxter let the darkness come.

***

A sharp, searing pain jolted Daxter back to consciousness with a gasp.  He clamped a hand over his injured arm, swearing under his breath when his fingers met damp cloth.  Just what a bullet graze needed, edges torn by stitches.  Ancient Precursor ghosts, it had hurt enough the first time the bloody furrow had been stitched closed.  Now he was going to have to pull all of them out and start over.

There was movement against his back, which jostled his arm.  He tried to stifle it, but the whimper came out anyway, loud in the otherwise silent room.  Slowly, carefully, his bed partner pulled away, leaving him cold.  Equally gentle hands helped him sit up before turning their lamp up to brighten the room.  Daxter gently peeled back the layers of gauze wrapped about his bicep, trying to gauge the damage.  It was a gory mess, tender, bruised, and still awfully inflamed, but it didn’t look like any of the stitches themselves had actually ripped open.  He’d definitely broken the fragile scab, though—it was seeping at a pretty steady rate.  How he managed that, he didn’t have a clue, but he was special like that.  Get injured by just standing around?  Why yes, he could!  It was the most perverse magic trick in the universe.

His hand closed over the wound again, trying to will the pain away.   He was too tired for this, but there was no way he was going to be able to sleep through it, either.  All he could do was wait until his body had absorbed as much as pain as it could handle and the receptors finally turned off.  Until then, however, there wasn’t much to be done—and it sucked ten different kinds of yakow balls.

“Go back to sleep, Jak,” he said quietly.  “You don’t have ta be up, too.”

There was no verbal response.  Rather, slightly cool fingers brushed over his cheek, startling him as much for the touch as for the tingle of eco along his skin.  His eyes snapped open, taking in the worried expression of not Jak, but Dark.  Daxter sucked in a breath and flinched when those tender, yet wickedly armed fingers trailed down his arm, insistently but carefully pulling his hand away.  Obsidian claws easily cut away the bloody gauze, exposing the wound to the cold night air.  Dark peered at it, using just the very tips of his nails to probe before leaning over and sniffing a few times.  That would have been cute and/or disturbing if everything hadn’t hurt quite so much.  It was most definitely disturbing when he took Daxter’s other hand and licked the blood from his palm.

 _No infection._   The words were felt more than heard, though there was something of a growl that accompanied it.  The breath Daxter had been unknowingly holding released as the unspoken fear was put to rest.  Infection was the last thing he needed.  He managed a weak smile for his friend.  It didn’t seem to comfort Dark much as the saturate fairly flowed off the bed and over to their bags.  Despite having to fight against muscles designed to carry him gracefully through large battlefields, the movements were still liquid smooth and ever precise.  Hands that could scar stone and rend metal were meticulous in the search for medical supplies, not pulling a single threat out of place.  They were exceptionally gentle, if not slightly nervous, as the sutures were cleaned of excess blood with the help of some water.  A tincture was slathered on to help prevent the scab from splitting again, and then a new bandage was applied.  The wound itself ached mercilessly, though the sharp edges had finally worn away.  Enough to let Daxter think about something else, at least.

Like why he was staring at Dark rather than Jak.  He was fairly certain that it had been the blond who’d crawled into bed with him earlier.  He hadn’t felt the eco shift; then again, he couldn’t feel much else beyond the oversensitive nerves in his arm anyway, so that really didn’t mean much.  As far as he could tell, there was nothing around them they needed protection from at the moment.  So what had brought about the change?

Something of the question must have transmitted because Dark suddenly refused to look at him, transforming from one of the scariest things that ever lived to a pitiful crocadog pup awaiting a smack from a rolled up newspaper because it had done something wrong.  Daxter’s eyes went wide in concern and surprise.  He was used to Dark the Destroyer, who used the Oracle’s gifts to lay waste to the Metalhead hordes.  He was well acquainted with Dark the Protector, the snarling force of nature that was the bane of the Baron’s existence.  He even knew the sweet, almost innocent Dark who had just tended to his arm.  But this shy, clearly miserable version was new, and more than slightly alarming.

“Jak…”

 _You got hurt._   The words were bitter with self-reproach.  A hand ghosted over the white wrapping.  _I let you get hurt._

Daxter stared stupidly for a full minute.  “What?” he finally managed to squeak.  Dark whined and started to pull away, but his arm was caught before he could get far.  “No, you tell me.  What the hell?”

_I protect.  I protect him and I protect you for him.  It is my only purpose.  One I have failed.  They hurt you because I did not stop them fast enough._

There was more staring.  A few dumbfounded blinks interspersed the time as Daxter took it in.  His jaw worked a couple times, trying to ask an unknown question.  There was a part of him that was flattered by the fact that his friend cared that much.  There was another part, one rapidly growing in size and strength, which was annoyed by the assumption he needed that kind of protection.  When the information finally settled, he was still and quiet.  Ultimately, there was really only one question that needed an answer. 

“Seriously?” he deadpanned.  The response was a ducked head.  Daxter took a deep breath, straightened up, and slugged his friend as hard as he could in the shoulder.  Sure, it was like punching a brick wall, but it was totally worth the extra pain to see the surprised look on the Dark Warrior’s face as he was unseated by the blow.  The redhead drew himself up, towering over the other.  “Idiot!  Jerk! For the love of hell, what the fuck is wrong with ya?!”

_You’re mad—_

“‘Course I’m mad!  M’tired, I hurt, an’ my best friend’s killin’ himself fer somethin’ he couldn’t help.  Holy damn, Jak!  I’m the one who’s supposed ta fuckin’ overreact.”  He hauled his fist back again, swinging wildly.  “Ya bastard!  That’s what all of this has been, isn’t it?  Tryin’ to make it up to me somehow?  Well, go fuck yerself.  I ain’t playing that game.”

He tried to hit the other a third time, but Dark caught his fist easily.  _Stop.  You’ll tear the stitches._

“Don’t even.  I’m not gonna sit here an’ listen to this rot.  It’s bullshit, ya hear me?  All of it.  Take a damn good look at what we do, buddy-boy, ‘cuz it ain’t pickin’ daisies.  Frankly, I’m surprised it took me this long to get shot, all things considered—”

_Stop._

“—I mean, I totally shoulda bought it a couple times when I was runnin’ the streets.  Got knifed twice, ya know—”

_Stop._

“—not ta mention all the times I was fightin’ the Bugs.  You ever seen what their venom could do to—”

 _Stop it!_   The snarl was accompanied by a hard grip on his shoulders.  Daxter winced as his bones grinding under the pressure.  _No more._

“It’s the truth,” the redhead snarled back.  “I lasted two years by my lonesome.  I’ve been beaten, stabbed, poisoned, electrocuted, an’ burned, an’ I’m still here.  I’m gonna last a helluva lot longer than a bullet wound.  Ya want a damsel in distress to coddle an’ save, look somewhere else.”

_That’s not it._

“Then what the hell is?!”

 _We cannot lose you!_    Despite the vehemence of the words, the grip on Daxter’s shoulders softened.  He could feel the fine shakes in those strong hands.  _You see a wound as something to work around, to overcome.  We…we see what could have been.  This could have been more than it is, so easily._   Dark reached out, but didn’t actually touch.  Instead, those fingers trailed across the redhead’s chest, their implication clear.  Take the same amount of distance for a complete miss in the opposite direction might have shattered bone, but an arm shot was never really the intended target.  If he hadn’t been dodging traffic at the same time, where else might that wound have ended up?  _We **cannot** lose you,_ Dark repeated. _Not again._

“You ain’t gonna lose me,” Daxter said quietly.  “You know why I made it through all of that in one piece?  ‘Cuz I had a damn good reason to get back up again.  Just ‘cuz yer outta that hellhole doesn’t mean that reason’s changed.  An’ I didn’t do it to get sidelined, either.  Demolition Duo means there’s two of us.  This ain’t a solo act, so don’t take it there.”

When Dark had nothing to say to that, Daxter continued.  “What could ya have done to stop this, huh?  Tell me that.  You suddenly gonna go psychic like the birdbrain?  You gonna kill ‘em all before they got a chance to even identify us?  What?  One shot may be all it takes, but this is the KG we’re talkin’ about here.  They almost can’t hit the broadside of a barn without some massive stroke of luck an’ they’re as observant as lumps on a log.”

_They’re observant enough._

“So what, we live in a hole the rest of our days?  Breathin’ the air, drinkin’ the water, getting’ up in the goddamn mornin’ and goin’ ta sleep at night…it could all kill us, nevermindin’ the Guard.  We’re supposed to be afraid of all that, too?”

The best answer Dark gave him was a rather helpless look, making Daxter feel like he’d just kicked some small, defenseless animal.  He groaned slightly, suddenly becoming aware of both the pain in his head and how cold the room had gotten.  This was not an argument to be fought and won in the middle of the night.  Not that it could probably be won at all.  Jak was protective—always had been.  That made Dark even more so.  Add on the hell of being separated for as long as they had been and well, that protective streak was bound to get unreasonable.

“Ferget it,” Daxter sighed, as much to himself as to his friend.  “Ain’t worth the lost sleep right now.  Come back to bed, ‘kay?”  Fathomless eyes just watched, clearly uncertain of how welcome he really was.  More of Daxter’s annoyance fled.  Holy damn, it was hard to stay mad when he was looked like that.  He smiled a bit, opening his arms in invitation.  “S’okay.  Really.”

Dark stared at him for a moment more.  Then his ears fell with a little whine like he was some sort of chastised crocadog pup.  He crawled forward until he could nuzzle under Daxter’s chin, slowly rubbing his cheek against pale throat.  Daxter wrapped his arms around a strong neck, letting his fingers thread through silky alabaster hair and nuzzling back.  His arm still throbbed uncomfortably, but it was no longer a white hot pain demanding of his attention.  The chill of the night was blocked by his friend’s larger, much warmer bulk, helping him relax again.  He was probably lucky he was as skinny as he was, otherwise all that radiant heat could have been problematic.  He’d always been a heat leech, though, so the extra boost to his body temperature felt good.

The gentle pressure of the nuzzles gradually increased until Dark was pushing against him, slowly pressing him back into the bed.  Daxter didn’t fight it, letting the other lower them back to the mattress.  He just kept petting, content to let his friend do whatever.  His head turned a bit with a contented sigh as warm, dry lips placed small kisses randomly across his neck, chin, and shoulder.  The more he relaxed, the more Dark seemed to relax, too, slowly settling on top of Daxter.  Thanks to the dark eco, there was about twenty pounds more of pure muscle weight attached to that body, but rather than feeling crushed, the redhead felt cocooned, shielded.  He found his hands absently working along the scalp, up towards the horns jutting proudly from the crown.  There was a secret thrill at the groaning shudder that went through his friend’s body as fingers traced the bony protrusions where they were anchored.  One would never guess by looking at them that they would be sensitive to the lightest of touches.  Dark pushed his head into Daxter’s palms with something like a purr, lifting his face in the process. 

Without thinking about it, the redhead leaned up and kissed him.  There was slight jerk of surprise when their mouths met.  Dark was not normally the one who got kissed, though he settled into it just fine when Daxter refused to stop.  Slowly, their lips moved against each other’s, pressed together solidly, but not crushingly so.  It remained quite chaste until someone’s (neither where sure whose) tongue dragged along a lower lip and the other’s flicked out to meet it. 

This time, it was Daxter who groaned, his body arching up of its own accord.  From there, it seemed impossible to stop shifting against one another.  It was never anything big, the press of a hand here, a flex of the hips or spine there, like they were gradually slipping into the best fit between them.  Even when Dark’s knee pressed between Daxter’s thighs, it was subtle, nearly natural for those long legs to spread and allow the other to finish settling.  Their legs twined in much the same manner as their tongues, rubbing and stroking and oh so slowly pushing away restrictive clothing until at last, Daxter was kicking their pants off of the bed completely.  Moaning into their kiss, he kept his injured arm locked around Dark’s neck as the other clawed down a strong back.  The favor was returned when large hands shifted down to his hips, kneading and trailing over cooling skin.

Goosebumps surged across the redhead’s body, making him instinctively curl up into the warm form above him.  Dark immediately took it as a sign to break their kiss and refocus his attentions on a pale neck.  Sharp teeth grazed over sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make sure the edges were felt, then followed immediately by a swipe of a hot, wet tongue, simultaneously exciting and soothing.  Trapped under the heavier body, all Daxter could do was shudder and writhe, his hereto soft noises of pleasure quickly gaining both strength and volume.

“Jak…” he whined when the teasing finally stopped and those teeth clamped down, shifting fitfully.  “Gods, please, fuck me…”

Dark pulled back so that they could look one another in the eye.  _Are you sure?_

Daxter’s answer was to pull him back into a demanding kiss.  “Now,” he gasped when they broke apart again.  “I need you now.”

There was no second questioning.  Dark pulled himself up and away to search for something to keep the slickness between them while Daxter stretched out with a slight huff, cold and overheated at the same time.  He didn’t have long to catch his breath; his partner was back within moments, handing him the bottle of oil that had been found.  _Careful,_ was the only thing Dark said before he resumed his self-appointed task of darkening the skin of Daxter’s throat.

It was hard to concentrate with that mouth doing such sweet, horrible things to the spot right where the neck and shoulder met, but it also made the redhead more determined to get what he wanted.  The oil spilled across trembling fingers, cold and slightly tacky as he tried to warm it up some.  Nothing broke up a mood faster than cold stuff dripping along intimate places.  A particularly hard bite had him throwing patience to the winds, however.  Daxter reached down awkwardly, one sticky hand wrapping around both their erections, giving them a long, hard pull while the other reached further down still.  Dark’s hands were good for a great many things, prepping a body for sex wasn’t anywhere on the list.   So it was with a stilted gasp that he pressed in his first finger, hissing against the intrusion as much as he did that slimy feeling lube.

The process was hurried and not at all adequate.  Cold or not, ready or not, though, he no longer cared.  Dark pulled back, shifting long legs further part, allowing himself to be positioned to the redhead’s satisfaction.  Then, with a purr, he pushed.  Daxter groaned, trying to remain still and relaxed.  Everything about his friend in dark eco mode was bigger and heavier, including the hard cock slowly sliding into him.  And it was almost agonizingly slow, creating a throb that echoed with his heartbeat throughout his whole body.  Just when it felt like he couldn’t take anymore, Dark stopped, fully sheathed.  There was an odd, hiccupping moment, trying to adjust against the intense pressure and still remember to breathe at the same time.  That rumbling purr intensified as Dark once more nuzzled under his chin, stretching out over the smaller form.  Hips shifted to a more subdued angle, easing the pressure in his backside.  Strong arms swept around thin shoulders, keeping him grounded and secure.  Daxter’s own arms locked down around Dark’s neck, face buried into soft white hair.

 _Mine._   The claim was followed by a broad stripe licked across the side of his face.  Dark rocked his hips, pulling back in an experimental shift before sliding forward again smoothly.  Daxter cried out weakly, nails digging into alabaster skin. There was an answering growl when he moved again, drawing back further than he had previously, but with the same intense forward motion, culminating in that claim once more.  _Mine, mine, mine…_

Measured and steady with that constant background purr, Dark moved inside his lover.  Each stroke was punctuated with another breathless cry and that possessive assertion.  In no time, Daxter was rocking back against him as best as he was able, body aching for more of what it was being given.  There was no hurry, however, to their motions.  Panting hotly into flushed ears, clutching at sweaty skin, they pushed against each other in a way that was slowly driving Daxter insane.  It could have been minutes or hours before that desperate need for more flared up, making what had been too much just previously to not nearly enough.  He whined, he begged, he pleaded, but Dark remained unmoving from his chosen pace of slow retreat and grinding reentry, as relentless as his mantra.  And there was only one way to answer that.

“Yes, m’yers.”

It wasn’t clear when or why he first said it, but the effect was immediate.  Dark shuddered, that infuriatingly sedate pace suddenly hitching.  So Daxter said it again and was rewarded with a hard and fast slam of the hips.  From there, there was no stopping.  As fast as Dark could say it, _mine, mine, mine,_ Daxter responded, “M’yers, m'yers, m'yers.”  That careful, drawn-out rhythm faltered and was lost to fluid, yet hard thrusts that only felt better the faster they came.  In no time, Daxter was choking on his words, rushing to the end his lover almost couldn’t carry him towards fast enough.  Almost.  He screamed as that agonizing pleasure crested, hung there for the several eternities locked into seconds that it took for Dark to find his own completion, then crashed headlong into oblivion.

And that was when it started to hurt.  Not a physical pain, because he couldn’t feel anything past that meltingly hot place they were connected, but a much deeper, internal pain he’d never noticed before.  No, that wasn’t entirely accurate.  He knew about it--he just chose to ignore it.  There were other things that needed to be done, concerns to be taken care of.  Contrary to popular belief, he did possess the maturity to know when things needed to be take seriously and when they didn’t.  In Haven, there was damn little that wasn’t life or death.  However, he’d made a choice that day he’d finally found Jak again, consciously and with conviction, that he was going to laugh at even the serious things.  Jak had more than enough anger and hate in his life now, suffused with twice that amount of self-loathing and nihilistic care.  He didn’t need Daxter’s own hate and remorse on top of all that, so the redhead buried it deep and smiled instead.

It wasn’t until he felt a warm tongue run tenderly across his temple that Daxter realized he was crying.  Knowing only made the problem worse.  The more he struggled to stop, the faster the tears came, dredging up every minor hurt in the process.  Even the care he was being shown hurt in its own bizarre way.  Knowing that he was wanted despite some very serious flaws, that agreeing to the claim meant so much to Jak—it all massed together in a single hard lump pressing uncomfortably into his chest.  The heavy purring came back, rumbling through Dark’s chest as he continued licking, his tongue drawing lightly over cheeks and eyelids until everything finally slowed down, eventually trickling to a stop once the pain abated.

There was one more broad swipe of the tongue.  _Better?_

Daxter managed a watery smile, still wiping at his eyes.  “Yeah, sorry.”

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, warm and soft.  “Don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Rather dazed by the sudden change, the redhead found himself simply staring up into Jak’s face.  No horns, no extra sharp teeth, no endless black eyes.  All that remained were the same deep blue irises that had always expressed far more than would could ever hope and that shy little smile that showed so rarely nowadays.  That, right there, was more than enough to make it all worth it.  Daxter surged up and kissed his friend, his lover, the absolute center of his world and practically melted when that kiss was returned without hesitation, just as fierce and passionate.

“Feel up for a shower?” the blond asked softly, absently nuzzling.  “Or just a wipe-down?”

He shifted, making a face when the mess between them made a rather loud and obnoxious squelching noise.  “A shower sounds fan-friggin’-tastic right now.”

Jak chuckled as he pulled himself up and away.  He stood completely at ease, his hand extended in invitation.  Daxter readily took it with a grin on his face, hearing all words that would remain unspoken between them.

_Remember, the shortest distance between two points is the line from me and you._

**Author's Note:**

> A leftover scene from another story that I then worked into it's own little thing. And since I like trying to do different things every time I write a character, Dark is a little more autonomous in this than he might actually be. Want added atmosphere? Look up The Glitch Mob's song by the same title. It'll be worth it, I promise.
> 
> Want more writing/music/bad fangirl antics? I've got a semi-NSFW [tumblr](http://grimreaperchibi.tumblr.com) where all the weirdness gets dumped.


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